


Clementine

by Blue M Hart (ThePreciousHeart)



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Bars and Pubs, Campfires, Child Death, Excessive Drinking, F/M, Family Feels, Folk Music, Headcanon, Inspired by Music, Late at Night, Memories, Other, Parenthood, Sad Ending, Singalongs, Vomiting, written and edited in one day RIP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:12:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25293739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePreciousHeart/pseuds/Blue%20M%20Hart
Summary: Five (ish) times John Marston enjoyed hearing his favorite song, and one time he didn't.
Relationships: Abigail Roberts Marston/John Marston, Bessie Matthews/Hosea Matthews, John Marston & Arthur Morgan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	Clementine

The singing began as John Marston approached the threshold of dreamland. Tuckered out and half-buried under his blanket, it was hard for him to tell if the faint, wispy melody was real or just a product of his imagination. Eventually his confusion roused him to full wakefulness, where he groggily sat up and peeked out of his tent. At the center of camp, around a warm, friendly fire, two familiar silhouettes sat entangled, swaying to a steady rhythm.

_“In a cavern, in a canyon, excavating for a mine, lived a pretty miner’s daughter, and her name was Clementine…”_ The voice was so unexpected that John almost didn’t recognize who it belonged to. Once he realized it was Bessie, though, he was fascinated. She’d taken out her mouth harp some nights to practice by the fireside, but this was the first John had heard of her singing. Unable to belay his curiosity, he crept from his tent and padded out into the open, approaching the campfire with what he believed to be stealth.

Apparently his footsteps weren’t as silent as he’d thought, for Hosea turned around, his shrewd eyes zeroing in on John. “John? What are you doing up?”

John shrugged, not wanting to admit he’d been spying on them, if that's what it was. “Couldn’t sleep…”

“Come sit by the fire,” Bessie encouraged, gesturing towards an empty space by the log on which she was perched. Obediently, John did as he was asked. He looked around the camp for signs of life- maybe Dutch, Arthur, or Pearson were awake too- but nothing stirred from the circle of tents.

“It’s late,” Hosea admonished half-heartedly. “We should all be in bed.” But he didn’t seem eager to leave the fire. John stretched his hands toward the fire, trying not to look Bessie in the eye. Even though Hosea had introduced them two of them a while ago, it still felt strange to have her sitting here in camp, a reminder of the inexplicable second life outside the gang that Hosea led.

At a loss for what to say, he murmured, “I liked that song you was singing.”

“So do I.” Bessie’s eyes sparkled. “It’s an old favorite.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Hosea said. His fond glance towards Bessie spoke volumes, many of which John couldn’t decipher. “Why don’t you teach the boy some verses? I’m afraid his music education has been scarce.”

“Okay.” Bessie drew her knees together and folded her hands atop them. “First, there’s a refrain you can join in on. It goes like this: _Oh my darling, oh my darling, oh my darling Clementine…”_

They sang through the whole song that night by the fire, Bessie’s quiet voice complimenting John’s ragged one and Hosea positively beaming in the dim light. A performance for no one but the stars.

*

John grinned as the barmaid set another glass of beer in front of him, hoping that the look in his eyes would give her pause. “Thank you, ma’am.” She didn’t seem impressed, but it made little difference. The night was young and John was happy, sitting in the bar with his friends- his _brothers-_ surrounding him.

A few sips of beer sent the world spinning around John- or had it already been that way? He couldn’t be certain. Either way, it was an altogether pleasant sensation. A song stirred up inside John’s head, a choice selection from his younger years. _“Oh, her father was a foreman of a very valued mine… and every miner and every ranchman was a brother to Clementine…”_

“How much have you had, Marston?” Arthur piped up disapprovingly from beside John. John rolled his eyes, because Arthur was in a pretty sorry state himself, and kept singing. _“Oh my darling, oh my darling, oh my darling Clementine…”_

“Lord, fetch the earplugs,” Bill muttered. John nudged him, determined not to let the others spoil his fun. “C’mon, Billy boy! Sing with me.”

He wasn’t sure if Bill ever followed through, because it wasn’t long after that he found himself being lifted from his barstool and slung over Arthur’s shoulder. The indignation swept aside all the remaining lyrics. “Arthur! _Hey!_ What d’you think you’re doing??”

“I ain’t having you stumble around making a fool of yourself,” Arthur declared. “Not after the last time we was out.” He hauled John off despite his protests, refusing to set him down until both were outside and had reached the hitching posts. As soon as his feet touched the ground, John lost his balance, staggering over and leaning heavily against his horse.

Arthur sighed noisily. “What are we gonna do with you?”

“Shut up.” John struggled, clutching the horse’s coarse mane. Staying upright was nearly as difficult as ignoring his suddenly churning stomach. “I ain’t had that much.”

“If this ain’t _that much,”_ Arthur said, “I’d hate to see what _is.”_

Whatever retort John would have come up with was forgotten as he sank to his knees, losing the battle against the alcohol threatening to leave his system. He gritted his teeth as the vomit stung his throat.

“C’mon,” Arthur said when John was through, grabbing him by the arm and helping him stand. “You can ride with me.”

John slouched against Arthur on the way back to camp, the wind rushing through his hair and settling his unease. In a slightly-less intoxicated state, he dimly picked out the melody of a very familiar song rumbling in Arthur’s chest.

“Thought you didn’t care much for that tune, Morgan.”

“Shut your mouth,” Arthur grumbled, but his humming soon progressed to singing, and John whispered along under his breath. _“Dreadful sorry, Clementine…”_

*

Out on the ranch at Beecher’s Hope, all was well. The sky was clear and full of stars, the campfire was roaring heartily, and there was music in the air. Not even the night’s beauty could have taken John’s focus from the providers of the music, sitting across from him- Jack on his harmonica, and Abigail singing along. Her sweet voice sailed through the air with complete abandon, as if she were the only person present, humming to herself while fixing dinner or tidying the house.

_“When far away, he would often pray that in his sunny clime, no harm might overtake her, his favorite nugget, Clementine.”_ The way Abigail was swaying, as if her soul could hardly contain the song, had John transfixed, as did the messy braid tumbling over her back, and the fire’s embers reflecting in her eyes. He didn’t think he’d ever seen someone quite so beautiful in his life. Every day she managed to vex and disturb and bewitch him all over again.

The song slowly wound down, and Jack put away his harmonica. Abigail sighed, gazing into the void overhead, and John softly smiled.

“I always liked that song,” he said. Abigail turned her loving gaze to his face.

“I know.” She unclasped her hands. “Why don’t you ever join in?”

The thought of doing so amused John to no end. “Oh, you don’t want to hear me sing.”

“Nonsense.” Abigail gestured to Jack, who had scooted closer to the fire. “Let’s have another one, Jack. Something to make your pa feel included.”

“Well, I--” John was prepared to raise resistance, but he fell silent as Jack pulled out his harmonica and looked to John expectantly. _Oh, what the hell?_ Nights like this wouldn’t last forever. Although John wished all the same that they would.

*

A loud wail awoke John from what was admittedly a fairly fitful sleep. He sat up, blinking in the darkness, as Abigail fled from the bed and hurried over to the crib in the corner in the room, already cooing quietly.

“Anything I can do?” John asked, since he’d been the last one to settle the baby down. He didn’t want Abigail to feel like she had to do all the work.

“Just go back to bed,” came the dismissive reply. “She needs changing, is all.”

John swung his legs over the bed. “I can change her.”

“You changed her last time.” With that, Abigail laid their daughter against her shoulder and made her way out of the room, to where she’d have light and space to clean her up. Reluctantly, John crept back beneath the covers and tried to empty his mind.

Eventually Abigail returned, with a much-subdued baby in her arms. “There now, Clem,” she murmured as she laid her back in her crib. “Now don’t that feel much better?”

Despite what Abigail had told him, John abandoned his attempt at sleeping and made his way to her side. He reached down and lay his hand against Clementine’s forehead, stroking her fine soft hair. Unthinkingly, a melody sprang to his lips, one which he felt powerless not to voice.

_“When the day’s done, and the setting sun, its rays sublime, homeward came the brawny miner to caress his Clementine.”_ He heard Abigail suck in a breath, as if she were preparing to sing too, but ultimately she stayed silent, letting John comfort their daughter.

_“None was nearer, none was dearer, since the days of forty-nine, when in youth he had another who was then his Clementine.”_ Except as far as John was concerned, there would never be another Clementine. On the day she was born, he’d vowed never to leave her the way he’d once left Jack and Abigail. Back then, he couldn’t have dreamed of the way his family would expand, of the home they’d ended up making for themselves. It was a life he’d never expected to want, but now that he had it, he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

“Goodnight, my sweet,” John whispered once Clementine had drifted away. Abigail reached out and took John’s hand, and the gesture said more than her words ever could have.

*

Gray storm clouds thickened overhead, but John couldn’t have cared less about the ensuing storm. His ears were buzzing with the melancholy tune pouring out of Jack’s harmonica, and his eyes were riveted to the wood marker before him.

CLEMENTINE MARSTON

1908-1910

SLEEP ON NOW AND TAKE YOUR REST

Beneath his arm, John could feel each sob that racked Abigail’s body. Beside her stood Uncle, head bowed respectfully towards the grave. Jack was white-faced, his eyes shut, and yet he played on, as if duty-bound. As if each note were a stepping stone, paving Clementine’s ascension into Heaven.

_Oh my darling, oh my darling, oh my darling Clementine…_

John closed his eyes as well. He’d seen too much of death over the course of his life, more than any man’s fair share. Somehow, in one way or another, he’d managed to live with it. To move forward. To accept the loss wholly, no matter how much it hurt.

This, however, was a different kind of pain, one that John didn’t want to accept at all. He held onto Abigail as the wind picked up and Jack’s tribute ended and the first of the droplets began to fall. He waited for someone to move, but no one did.

*

John was halfway down the town’s main street, his hands in his pockets and hat dipped over one eye, when the melody reached his ears. On squeaky, yet achingly poignant fiddle strings, a song creaked out, the words to which John remembered only too well.

John stopped dead, searching for the source. He eventually spied two youngsters on the side of the road, one pushing a bow across the fiddle while the other held out an upturned hat.

_Just walk away,_ he told himself, but before he could take his own advice, the kid with the hat met his eyes. He thrust the hat out, a gap-toothed smile filling his face. “Hey, Mister! Spare a dime to hear a tune?”

Blindsided, John fumbled through his satchel, unearthing several coins that he didn’t bother looking at. “I’ll spare you a dime if you take that song somewhere else,” he heard himself saying.

“Mister?”

_“Please!”_ Now John’s voice was shaking. “Anything but... but...” He haphazardly dropped the coins in the hat, before turning tail and marching as far away from those kids as he could get. However, his walk was now a little stiffer, his shoulders a little more hunched. The song returned to his head, although he didn’t want it to.

_Oh my darling, oh my darling, oh my darling Clementine…_

_You are lost and gone forever. Dreadful sorry, Clementine._

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this was depressing and totally uncalled for and I'm sorry for any pain I might have caused. Now that that's out of the way:
> 
> This is a headcanon I've had for a while now. I don't interact with this fandom much so I don't know if many others share it. If you do share it, and have written about it, I promise I'm not ripping you off.
> 
> Lyrics for "Oh My Darling Clementine" were taken from [Abigail's performance of it in the game,](https://youtu.be/TEI8I5fStAw?t=336t=5m34s) which happens to be the only time I've heard this exact set of lyrics.


End file.
